Out of Ashes
by Rachel Lynn
Summary: A sixteen year old Sirius finds himself sucked into an alternate universe. Young!Sirius with Adult!Harry.
1. Sacrificial lamb, anyone?

Warning: I have a tendency to be really flaky when it comes to writing to be continued type stories. Most of the time it's because by the time I get to the third chapter, I'm so embarrassed of the first that it's hard to make the rest of it work. I do like the premise for this story a lot though, and for once, I'd really like to go the distance with something like this. So, that being said, I went back and rewrote this story in the hopes that I could then like it enough to continue with it. However, in doing so, Sirius under went some changes and I can guarantee that there will be slashy elements to this story in the future (I can also assure you that it won't be Harry/Sirius.) Sorry if this pisses anyone off, it was just my way of trying to redeem this poor thing.

Title: Out of Ashes

Rating: R (for language)

Summary: A sixteen-year-old Sirius finds himself sucked into an alternate universe. 

Author's Note: Okay, this is my third and final attempt at writing this idea. I've had two false starts already, and I kind of like the way this one is beginning to flesh out. That being said…*laughs* Yes, much with the randomness. I'm a very random type of person. I just wanted to try writing a fic where Harry was the adult and Sirius was the kid because I think role reversal is fun like that. This is all taking place in a Post-Harry defeating Voldemort world, so it's just going to get weirder from here on out. This is also my first foray into the wild world of alternate universes, so don't get your hopes up.   

*****

Chapter One

*****

"This won't hurt a bit, baby. You won't feel a thing until it's over." That was a lie, and he knew it. She liked hurting him, and had told him so on many occasions. Her cool nails traced lightly over his cheek, and he flinched as they flicked the end of his nose. 

"Please, don't," he heard himself beg, sounding like some little snot nosed brat trying to escape a punishment. He'd promised himself he'd never beg her for anything, but he was quickly learning that there was a threshold to which any promise could and would be broken. 

"Think of it as a right of passage. You'll be a man when we're finished," she chuckled, moving aside so that one of his cousins could paint a rune on his chest. He would have looked, or wiped it off, or spit in her face, but the manacles at his wrists kept his arms spread eagle, and the strap over his forehead prevented him from looking anywhere but straight up at the skylight above him. Huh. His mother and her many kinks. 

"This is crazy. You can't possibly think this will work," his voice quavered a bit as his mother started lighting candles. No, she was going to do this. Hell, given that she wasn't chattering away incessantly, she'd probably done this before for someone else's eldest brat. She'd always planned on going though with this, he could see that now. If he'd been Reggie, things would have been different.  

"Not that you've ever appreciated tradition, Cousin, but even you should be able to see the sense in this." 

The sense in it? What possible sense was there in this? They were planning on siphoning off his magic. There was no guarantee that he'd even make it out of the ritual mind, soul and body intact. Hell, he'd be lucky if the initial separation of magic from his body didn't kill him outright. And even if he did make it out of all this by some miracle with some capacity for rational thought left in his head, he'd still become an outcast to everything he'd ever known and lived. 

"Let's trade places and then see what you think, Bella," he growled. 

"Oh stop being such a baby, Sirius." Narcissa pinched his cheek hard before moving over to light some more of the candles surrounding him. 

"Why don't you go fuck Malfoy and leave me the hell alone, _Cousin_." 

"Enough girls," his mother shushed them as she smacked him lightly across the same cheek Narcissa had just abused. "He's not going anywhere, and we've yet to finish the preparations." 

"This is just sick!" They weren't seriously going to go through with this! However, from the way they ignored him, it was becoming increasingly obvious that they didn't care what he thought in the slightest. Not that they ever had, really. In fact, the perversity of it all was probably just an added bonus for them. He wondered how many other pureblood families went through shit like this. He doubted that the Potters sat around their kitchen table contemplating sacrifice rituals. 

"Baby, try to understand. It's your turn to contribute to this family. Your father and I looked the other way when you got sorted into _that_ house. And we held our tongues when you started spouting that nonsense about muggle rights. You've done nothing but become a burden on this family from the moment you were born. Now, it's time for you to start repaying your debt to what we've given you all these years." 

All that they'd ever done for him? Who the hell was she kidding? 

He tuned them out as Bella and Narcissa started bickering over god only knew what. He wasn't going to let them do this. Determined, he started chanting under his breath right along with them as they started the ritual. The Dog Star shone bright from above him through the skylight, and he tried to recall the words exactly as he'd seen them in that stupid book Remus had been hauling around for the entire last semester of school. Who knew that Remus' obsession with getting his stupid apparation license would provide him with an ancient transportation spell? Although, a slight goof of a pronunciation and he could end up anywhere. Or spliced in half. 

The rune on his chest began to burn, and he could smell his flesh as it smoldered. Had he not already been well acquainted with the sensation, it might have thrown off his own recitation of the spell, but his mother had gone a long way to make her eldest stoic. Grinning wryly now as his married cousins started to give him suspicious glances, he gave the words power, speaking them louder in counter to their own. 

His body felt heavier, and the burning on his chest made sweat pop out on his upper lip. He could feel the crackle of magic tangling in the air above him. It occurred to him then that maybe, just maybe reciting a spell while they were enacting one of their own might not have been the best of ideas. But then again, nothing risked, nothing gained. He'd rather face this death than let them have his soul, which was exactly the price they were asking as payment. 

Bella screamed in anger and Narcissa tugged violently on his hair, causing him to stumble over a word for half a second before he felt his mind slowly detach and his stomach drop out. It was hard to tell if the blinding light he saw was only a fiction of his imagination or if it was proof that one of the spells had worked. And as his mind slipped away into exhaustion, he decided he really didn't care. 

*****

He woke to the sounds of someone screaming and hands at the manacles at his wrists. It took him half a second to realize that the screaming was coming from him, and another two to realize that nothing had changed. He was still on the table, his chest felt as if it were still on fire, and he could still clearly see the Dog Star through the skylight above. 

Someone was talking to him, and he felt the manacles slide off his wrists as hands went to unlatch the strap at his forehead. He wheezed slightly before rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. Blearily, he could see that the rune had sunk underneath his skin slightly, leaving the whole mark a raw and open wound. He wondered briefly how long it would take for him to feel the difference in himself. Obviously his spell had failed. Once again, his mother had gotten her way. Maybe at least now she'd finally be happy with him. 

Ironic considering that she thought muggles were a couple steps below dead and rotting flobberworms. 

"Shh, okay, come on. Let me have a look at that." The deep timbre of the voice had his eyes flying open, and Sirius winced for a moment as he jerked his head up slightly. Stunned, he let the hands roll him back over onto his back. 

"How-" he coughed as the words stuck to the back of his sore throat. For a moment, he could have sworn it was James. Same messy hair, the right kind of lanky build. But James didn't have green eyes, and this bloke was a bit old to be impersonating his best friend. Although, he wasn't an entirely bad looking chap. 

"You gave me quite the start," a small half smile played at the man's lips, and Sirius frowned. What the hell was this bloke doing in his bedroom? For that matter, where had his mother and his cousins vanished off to? "Usually it's my screams that wake everyone else up. Not the other way around." 

"Uh," he tried again only to cough up blood this time. 

"Take it easy. We'll get you to Madam Pomfrey, she'll patch you up, and we'll figure out what happened from there." 

Sirius nodded weakly, wondering what the currency was going to be for this particular bit of help. Over the years, he'd learned that there was a lot he could tolerate, and that really, there was a great many lengths he'd go to in order to get what he wanted. At the moment? He wanted to live. He'd like his magic back too, but something made him think that that would involve lengths that maybe he wasn't ready for yet. And so be it, he'd work his way up to that. He wasn't a stranger to that kind of adjustment. And who knew, maybe being a muggle wouldn't be so bad. Really. 

Morosely, he looked up at the man who the bags under his eyes. The bloke helped him to his feet, and for a moment, Sirius was sure he'd be able to just walk to wherever the bloke was intent on taking him to. And then his legs gave out from underneath him—the man catching him under the armpits just before his eyes rolled back in his head. 

*****

"So, he just-" Remus hesitated for a moment, sliding Harry an uncertain glance, "appeared?" 

"I don't really know. I just woke up to him screaming. He certainly wasn't there when I went to bed." Running a hand tiredly through his hair, Harry backed up for a moment to watch Madam Pomfrey wave a wand over the last of the unconscious kid's bandages. "I thought we'd gotten rid of most of the more interesting, uh, features of the house." 

"Speaking of which, what were you doing there, exactly, Harry?" Harry resisted the urge to flinch at the slight reprimand in Remus's voice. His friend meant well, thinking that Grimmauld Place was filled with bad memories. Remus wasn't entirely wrong, either. The place reminded him of Sirius and all that had gone wrong his fifth year. 

But, really, it was the only thing Sirius had left to him. It was the only real and tangible piece of Sirius that he had left. That, and the somber, sometimes sinister feel of the house felt comforting. He doubted Remus would be too terribly thrilled to hear that, but Harry needed to be somewhere where the outside could reflect what he felt inside. 

His flat in Hogsmeade was nice, sure. Hermione had helped him—and insisted—on painting the walls a cheerful yellow. Ginny had decorated and color coordinated the whole flat so that it looked like a homey little piece of heaven. Even Hermione's daughter, Alice, had contributed to the effect, placing her childish artwork on his fridge and on the walls of his bedroom. 

Quite the step up in life for a boy who had spent ten years sleeping in a cupboard with spiders as companions. 

And maybe that was the problem right there. He hadn't liked the cupboard, sure, but it had been all that he'd known in his life for a long time. Long before Hogwarts and learning that he was a wizard and that he was destined to kill people, he'd lived in a cupboard with a family who convinced him that he wasn't worth the effort it took to fix up a spare bedroom. 

"I can sleep there, Remus," he said quietly, trying to shrug off the older man's concern. In a lot of ways, Grimmauld Place mirrored some of the same things he saw in himself—the darkness, the disuse, the bad memories. It smelled musty and cramped like his old cupboard, and the fact that the walls were bare and the house seemed to be falling into disrepair made it all that much more familiar feeling to him. 

"That can't be-"

"Healthy? Probably not, but it's the only thing that works," Harry interjected before Remus could gear up into his form of gentle remonstration. "And it came in handy tonight. Who the hell is this kid?" 

"He looks familiar, but I can't place him. He's not a student of mine, I'm fairly certain." 

Well, that threw a wrench into the works, Harry frowned. He was sure Remus would recognize the kid as one of the thousands of Hogwarts students that trickled in and out of Remus's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. "That burn on his chest," Harry muttered, "I'm sure I've seen it before." 

"On a certain Potions professor." 

"Snape?" Harry looked at Remus in confusion and Remus shot him a pained glance. 

"The _current_ Potions professor." 

"Malfoy?" Well, he learned something new every day. There wasn't any lost love between him and Malfoy, but they'd reached an uneasy truce somewhere in their seventh year when Malfoy abruptly started voicing thoughts that were opposite from everything he'd stood for during the other six years they'd been at school together. They weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, but Malfoy had Harry's respect. 

"I've suspected for a long time that his burn was part of a botched ritual. This just reinforces the idea." Well, it would certainly explain why the git was so damned sensitive about it. Malfoy had nearly hexed him into next week once for casually commenting that it must have hurt like a bitch to receive. 

"What kind of ritual?" 

"I wish I knew." 

"Well, best of luck getting the answer out of Malfoy." Remus shot him a withering glare at that, and Harry couldn't help but grin back. Malfoy was just as bad tempered and secretive as his predecessor had been. "I'm going to go back and see if I can piece together some clues. At the very least, we should try and contact his parents, right?" 

"If, and that's a pretty big if, you figure out who he is, maybe we should hold off on contacting anyone until after we've heard what he has to say," Remus suggested, and Harry supposed he could see the wisdom in the idea. 

"He could be from Durmstrang or Beauxbaton, except I didn't notice much of an accent." 

"He talked?" 

"Well, one word, but it was English and I understood it," Harry shrugged, ignoring the look on Remus's face. "Look, however this ends up coming together, I'll take full responsibility of him until we figure out where he belongs."

"Harry," Remus's tone held a note of exasperated warning.

"Yes, yes, I can't save everyone, and I shouldn't run myself ragged trying. Message received. But he was found in my house, and we don't know who he is, and I am not turning him over to the Ministry. He reeks, and they'll roast him over hot coals for it. You _know_ that." 

"So you smelled the dark magic on him, too?" When Remus gave a resigned sigh, Harry knew he'd won this round. Which was good, because as much as he respected Lupin, he wouldn't have backed down on this. He knew how the Ministry—how the wizarding world in general—dealt with runaways and orphans. He'd been trying to revise the statutes for years. "Don't do anything rash."

"I never do anything rash," Harry protested, and Remus rolled his eyes before running hands through his silver hair. "Fine, I won't do anything rash." 

*****


	2. Magical Makeover Power!

A/N: Told you it was going to get weirder. It also occurs to me that I should be banned from the computer. And from TV. And from everything else that eats my brain when I'm not paying attention. 

Yeah, well, that was the theory anyway. There's a reason I don't usually attempt these sorts of things. Just remember, no one's putting a gun to your head and making you read this. 

*****

Chapter Two

*****

"Hello, my name is Alice." 

Sirius pried his eyes open at the solemn voice, and frowned as a little girl with wild curly hair came into focus. "Um, hi," he mumbled before coughing slightly. Damn, his throat hurt. 

"What's your name?" She looked up at him expectantly. 

"Sirius," he managed to croak out before swallowing hard and grabbing the glass of water sitting on the bedside table next to his elbow. The little girl seemed to take this as an invitation to make herself at home as she threw a bag up beside him before proceeding to crawl up on the bed. 

"You have excellent bone structure," she told him primly, and he raised an eyebrow at that. She didn't look old enough to even have an idea as to what bone structure might be, let alone know whether he had an excellent example of it. 

"Thanks. I think," he nodded as she beamed at him. At least she was minding the bandages. Dora would have accidentally kicked him in the groin twice by now. She was five, though, so it was okay. Little Miss Alice herself didn't look too much older, so when she popped open the bag she'd thrown on the bed with gusto, Sirius felt a bit apprehensive. 

"Good bone structure will only get you so far, though. What you need is _color_." That did not sound promising. 

"I'll keep that in mind," he answered just as seriously, before attempting to sit up. The pain that shot straight through his torso let him know fairly quickly that that hadn't been the best of ideas, and the way it stole his breath away for a second reminded him that less than twenty four hours ago he'd been strapped down to a table, listening to his mother and his cousins try to chant away his magic. "Where are your parents?" Because the last thing he wanted to deal with right now was an adult. They never said anything that made any fucking sense, they babbled on about things they knew nothing about, and seemed to be overly fond of slapping a bandage over spurting artery. 

They were pretty much useless. And he wanted to, at the very least, get up enough strength to get the hell out of here before someone started asking questions that _he_ wasn't even ready ask himself yet.

"Mummy's teaching Charms and Daddy's off doing Herbology." 

In the summer? Sirius frowned at that, tuning Alice out as she reached into her bag, pulled something out and started talking about finding the right shade of chartreuse. Charms and Herbology _sounded_ like magical classes, but unless Flitwick had undergone a sex change in the last couple months and someone had decided to implement summer sessions, Sirius didn't think he was at Hogwarts. And he was pretty sure that Romie's husband, Ted, had laughed himself sick that one time at the suggestion that muggles might teach their children things like Herbology. 

"See, your look is just hopelessly outdated." Sirius winced as Alice's brush caught on a snarl and she tugged. Ah, he knew he should have paid closer attention. He'd gotten shanghaied into this five-year-old's version of makeover. After spending an entire hols dodging Dora's attempts at the same, you'd have thought he'd have caught on better. "The layered effect is all the rage this fall." 

"Oh really," he pretended to contemplate her words and she shot him a blinding grin in response. Apparently, the little tyke liked it when her life sized dolls played along. "I've been thinking of getting a permanent," he confided in a mock whisper. 

The look on her face spoke volumes. "A what?" 

"A permanent. So I can have pretty curls like yours," he tugged on her hair gently as she put down the brush and reached for scissors. He almost gave up the pretense then. 

"Ugh. No. You don't have the right face for it, and straight hair is the height of popularity," she said with the same grave air one might have while informing someone that suicide was just not the answer to their problems. 

"Says who?" he questioned teasingly. She was a serious little thing that was for sure. Dora would have driven her mad in a heartbeat. 

"Witch Weekly. Mum subscribes to it, but she hides it when Dad comes home. Part of being beautiful is looking like you don't have to work at it," she said it with such great authority that Sirius almost found himself agreeing. Strange little kid. 

Well, she'd mentioned Witch Weekly, so he had to still be somewhere within the magical community itself. And to tell the truth, the infirmary did look a lot like Hogwarts' infirmary. The beds were all in the wrong places, and none of the furnishings were the same, though. 

"Now hold still and close your eyes," Alice commanded imperiously. He gave her one look, and sighed a breath of relief to see that she'd put down the scissors in favor of a tube of lipstick. Well, what the hell, what could it hurt? She was five, for fuck's sake. What could she possibly do? She certainly couldn't be any worse than his mum and cousins. 

Relaxing, he sank back on the pillows, hissing in one sharp breath as the movement shifted his bandages slightly.

"Good," Alice jabbered on, "when I'm done with you, you'll look like a million galleons." He had to grin at that as her pudgy fingers danced over his face. Chances were, he'd come out looking like the singer from that muggle band, Kiss. He'd played this game with Dora enough times to know that he'd be lucky if he made it out of the experience sans stiletto heels, a string of pearls and a brassiere. 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the wolf whistle was enough to jar him. He flinched even as he jerked upright, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed by an eyeliner pencil. 

"You look," the redheaded bloke at the doorway, who Sirius was pretty sure had let go the whistle, paused for a moment as if searching for the right word, "interesting." Great, he'd let the pint size fashion expert take control and now he was left with dealing with adults all over again. At least it wasn't the green eyed chap from before. There was still actual hope that he could weasel his way out of this place if he talked fast enough. 

"You're insulting Francesca," Alice retorted, and Sirius felt his face flush. Alice didn't look at all happy to see the bloke at the door, but she certainly didn't look scared either. So that was probably a plus as well. As long as the kid was here, too, it wasn't likely that the bloke was going to lay into him much. 

"Oh, Alice, _Francesca_?" the bloke chuckled shoving his hands into his pockets and ambling over to Sirius's bed and plopping down in the chair beside them. "You can't do that sort of thing to a man's pride." 

"Uncle Harry lets me do it," she shrugged uncaringly before crawling off the bed and onto the chap's lap. So far so good, Sirius decided. He couldn't be that bad if Alice felt comfortable crawling all over him. 

"Uncle Harry's a sap." The redhead snorted, ruffling poor little Alice's already wayward locks. "But, I have it on great authority that he's been hiding some chocolate frogs in the top drawer of his desk just for you." 

Oh fuck. Sirius sucked in a deep breath before pulling himself up as far as he could into a sitting position. The spots were dancing there in front of his eyes, but he'd be damned if he took this literally lying down. His vision cleared just in time for him to see solemn little Alice bouncing happily out of the infirmary. Well, there went his safety insurance. 

"So, you're Harry's latest project, huh?" The bloke started in, pulling Sirius' gaze from the empty doorway. 

"Who?" 

"Harry. Skinny chap with uncontrollable hair, green eyes, big scar on his forehead, savior of the wizarding world?" This seemed to amuse the man, but for the life of him, Sirius couldn't understand why. 

"Oh. Him." 

"Yes, him. And between you and me," the redheaded bloke leaned in companionably, and Sirius favored him with a frown, "he's got a rather nasty habit of collecting troubled kids like stray puppies." Oh the irony. 

"And that's a problem," Sirius stated flatly.

"Well, see that depends on you," the bloke gave him an assessing look before pulling a card out of his pocket and handing it to Sirius. 

"You're an auror." Why that surprised him, he wasn't sure. Maybe he'd simply read one too many of James' cloak and dagger comics over the years. Although, to tell the truth, this Ronald Weasley looked more like he was about to go out and wrestle dragons than he did like he was going off to do top secret work for the government. "Are you here to take me away?" He flinched even as he blurted out the question. Talk about stupid. So what if he idolized aurors? He certainly wasn't going to be one now that he was mugglefied. He could have at least bought himself some time to make a run for it before someone else decided to take care of him first. What kind of idiot was he? Why not just tell the man point blank to haul him away now?

"Do I have a reason to?" Weasley quirked an eyebrow, and Sirius bit back a small sigh of relief. 

"No." Merlin bless his mum for making such a fine liar out of him. "I was just running with the wrong crowd, you know. But they went too far, tried to hurt a friend of mine. And when I tried to get out, they took offense." He gestured at the bandages on his chest. Weasley looked a bit suspicious, but Sirius just smiled apologetically. People gobbled this stuff up. The fallen angel, attempting to redeem himself and repenting his wild ways. Never mind that it was a crock of shit. 

"Harry said he found you chained to a table." He shrugged since there really wasn't an explanation he could come up with to explain that away. "Look kid, you seem all right. But if there's dirt to be had on you, I'll find it. And if I find out that you've hurt one hair on anyone's head in this building, your ass is grass, got it? Harry might be squeamish about sending kids to Azkaban, but I'm not." 

Well, that was fine with Sirius. He didn't plan on sticking around this joint long enough to be more than a fuzzy memory in anyone's mind. 

"Hey Uncle Ron!" Sirius' head snapped up to see Alice trotting back in with someone following a bit more sedately behind her. "Look who I found." If it weren't for the fact that she was willingly holding hands with the bloke, Sirius probably would have freaked out. There was no doubt about it, the bloke had to be a Malfoy. Pointy nose, fair skin, the I'm-a-god-and-you-better-worship-me attitude as he looked down his nose at both him and this Ron auror chap.

"Wonderful," Ron sighed under his breath, rolling his eyes as he faced Sirius before plastering on an overly fake smile and turning to face the blond. 

"My sentiments exactly." The blond folded his arms over his chest and looked at them all with a bored, disinterested face. 

"They're so immature." Alice announced primly before calmly walking over to Sirius' bedside and reclaiming her bag. "Professor Malfoy says that I should thank you for letting me annoy you. I told him you looked lots better now that you're wearing the right colors."

"Yes, he looks lovely." Ron snorted before picking up Alice and slinging her over a shoulder. "Now say goodbye to your new friend." 

"Bye Sirius!" She waved, and Sirius wanted to crawl under the covers at the double take both adults gave him. Given the significant look that passed between the auror and the professor, Sirius decided that it probably would have been better if he'd lied to the kid and told her his name was something outrageously normal like Bob.   

He watched Ron carry Alice out and felt his heart sink a bit. Joy. It was him and the professor. He turned his head to stare at Malfoy, whose face was completely unreadable. The good professor pulled out his wand, and Sirius watched it with wary eyes, taking a moment to regret having let the auror and Alice leave so quickly and leaving him alone with the man. Flinching, he braced when the bloke waved it casually. 

When his head didn't immediately detach from his body, Sirius realized that the professor had only taken a moment to undo the makeover Alice had given him. But that didn't mean Sirius found him any less creepy. 

"Sirius, is it?" Professor Malfoy took the seat Ron had just vacated. And he nodded, resisting the urge to pull his blankets up over his bandaged chest. Maybe Narcissa had sent the bloke to finish the job. Maybe sucking out his magic wasn't enough and they wanted more from him. Maybe they just wanted to erase any trace of the embarrassment he'd been to the family. Maybe they just wanted him dead now that he wasn't of any use to anyone. 

The idea was not without merit seeing as how his Aunt Elladora had started a tradition of beheading useless house elves. He couldn't be too far behind them as a magicless wizard. 

"Do you have a surname to go with that first name?" Professor Malfoy raised an eyebrow sardonically. 

"Yes, sir," Sirius returned, vowing to himself to not say another word to the man. Besides, it wasn't as if he were much of a Black anymore, anyways.

*****

"Hey," Harry waved a bit uncertainly as he slid into the infirmary, pulling the door shut behind him. The kid on the bed turned jerkily towards him, and he winced at about the same time the kid winced. "The burn still hurt?" 

"No," the kid grimaced, the sarcasm readily apparent. 

Hauling in a deep breath, Harry took a moment to sit down on the vacant chair beside the bed and run his hands through his hair. He was too old for this. No more mysteries, no more life or death situations, and absolutely no more murders. He'd had his fill. Glancing up at the kid, he could see that the boy was trying to figure him out. "Professor Malfoy told me your name was Sirius," he tried hesitantly.

"Yes, sir," Sirius returned mockingly. Harry could see where Malfoy had run into problems. Given the git's way to not take no for an answer, Harry imagined Malfoy just kept putting on the pressure, not realizing that the more he applied the less likely his chances of accomplishing his goal became. 

"I had a godfather named Sirius once," he confided softly, this time instantly getting the boy's attention. "He passed away when I was about your age." And what a bitter memory that was. "I got into something over my head. I didn't think through the consequences and I didn't have all the facts. He came to help bail me out and it killed him." 

The kid shrugged, looking terribly uncomfortable. Cursing himself silently, Harry mentally tried to pull himself together. He'd had an hour since Malfoy had informed him that the kid he'd found in Sirius's house bore Sirius's name. Moping over the past wasn't going to do anyone any good.

It wasn't going to bring his Sirius back. He couldn't go back and change some of his more rash actions, and he couldn't go back to stop Sirius from committing some of his own. It wasn't healthy to sleep in the house his godfather had hated. It wasn't normal to find peace in the one place that was all but the definition of unrest. Ron had offered to torch the place for him, years ago. Hermione refused to step foot inside it. Remus wouldn't say more than three words about it when it was brought up in conversation. Neville, he knew, understood the significance and the raw kind of transfixed pull the house held for him. But even Neville had tried to talk him out of staying there on occasion.

"Just a shock, is all," Harry murmured, pulling his attention back to the Sirius in front of him. "It was my godfather's house that you appeared in," he managed a bittersweet smile as Sirius opened his mouth to reply. He tried to look encouraging when nothing came out, and it concerned him some when Sirius finally just shut it and let the conversation lapse into silence. "Are you okay? Your chest isn't paining you too much, is it?" 

"No, it just stings some," came the quiet reply. 

"Can you remember what happened?" Harry watched from under his eyelashes as the kid's posture stiffened and Sirius turned to look out the window. 

"No." Another obvious lie.

"Do you want to talk about it?" God, how Harry _hated_ that question, and he didn't blame Sirius for the grimace. If a bloke wanted to talk about something, he'd damn well say so. But then again, some kids were like him. Some kids were trained from toddlerhood to push their problems down and ignore them until they erupted at the wrong time, in the wrong contexts, and to the wrong people.

If pushed hard enough, most kids eventually cracked and talked. And in all honesty, Harry liked doing things that way more than he liked having to magic them off the roof and putting them on suicide watch or having to rescue them from life and death situations. 

"What's to talk about?" Sirius stared blankly at the back wall. 

Unfortunately there were some kids who just never cracked. Or at least, they didn't crack until they'd already found themselves in way over their heads. This kid was definitely shaping up to be one of them. 

"Professor Malfoy said you wouldn't let him take a look at the burn," he tried again. 

"I didn't want him poking at it," the boy returned sullenly. 

"Look, I know better than most how much of a right bastard he can be, but trust me, he'd never hurt you. Not on purpose." Not nowadays anyway, several years ago, that would not have been the case at all, but the kid didn't need to know that. "I know curse scars can be a bit sensitive." 

"It's not a curse scar, and what the hell do you know about any of it, anyway?" The angry tone threw Harry off balance for about half a second as the boy in the bed sneered back at him. 

"Lots," he said pulling his fringe back so that the kid could see his scar. Although, god only knew this Sirius kid had to have known it was there. If he hadn't been a household name during the first twenty years of his life, he'd definitely been one for the last ten years since his defeat of the dark lord. Harry had fully expected to see the flicker of recognition in the kid's eyes, but there was nothing but anger and confusion. 

"Whatever," Sirius mumbled.

"Look," Harry sighed, "is there anyone we should contact. Family? Your parents? Relatives? Someone has to be worried about you." Because they might have a better idea on what exactly was happening. Or at how to get the kid to let it out. Then again, depending on his reaction, it was entirely possible that family was at the root of this kid's problems. He certainly wouldn't be the first. 

Sirius turned to look out the window again, and this time Harry could clearly see the naked pain on the kid's face. Fuck. This wasn't going to be as simple as he'd hoped. Some part of Harry had known it wouldn't be. After all, the kid had a rune burned from collarbone to belly button on his chest. This wasn't exactly the makings of a happy home, as far as Harry was concerned. "Nobody's going to be worried," Sirius confirmed. 

"Is there anyone I can get in touch with that you trust? Someone that could help you out?" Harry took another stab, hating himself for even having to ask. Heaven only knew that if someone had asked him this at that age, he'd have taken their head off in rather spectacular fashion before telling them that he didn't need nor want their help. 

"I don't want to talk to anyone right now, thanks all the same." Sirius seemed to curl up inside himself then, sinking back down into the covers and closing his eyes. Harry could see the strain on the kid's face. There was something preying on Sirius's mind. Harry could recognize the symptoms. 

"Well," he said softly, standing slowly, "you're welcome to stay with me for as long as it takes to sort all this out." That certainly got the kid's attention, he noted with a humorless smile as he stretched and popped his aching back. 

"What if," Sirius bit his lip and Harry turned to face the boy, "what if there is something wrong with me?" There was genuine worry in the kid's eyes. 

"Then we'll figure out what to do from there," he answered simply. Whatever that burn had involved, whatever kind of ritual Remus thought this was and Malfoy knew it to be, Harry was certain that Sirius knew exactly what had happened to him. 

*****


	3. It's a dog eat dog world

A/N: So…the imp of the perverse overtook my soul and made me do it. Or, at least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I really can't come up with any other good reason as to why I thought I'd commit a bunch of fic cliché taboos. (Oh, say, the related original character, the professorizing of Harry's age group, Malfoy turning, beating the crap out of Sirius…dude, I don't think I realized how many I'd committed up until now. O_o;;) At least it's not a song fic, although I was tempted. ^-^;; 

So, yeah, bless any of you who are still with me and reading this. *bows humbly* 

*****

Chapter Three

*****

Sirius waited until after the door closed behind 'Uncle Harry' before he let out the sigh he was holding. What a weird way to try and pump information out of a kid. What the hell had the bloke been thinking? As if he really had a godfather who just _happened_ to have Sirius's name and owned Sirius's house. He'd heard some badly told lies in his time—mostly from James—but this one was just beyond the pale. 

Had the bloke really been expecting Sirius to buy into such a convoluted story? Sirius was the only one in his family named after the Dog Star. There wasn't even a burn mark further up on the family tree his mother kept that might have been a relative with the same name. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more insulted he felt. As if he'd be that gullible. Even if he hadn't grown up in a house full of back stabbing pit vipers, he wouldn't have been dumb enough to fall for such an obvious ruse. 

However, other than accidentally mistaking Sirius for a backwards five-year-old, Harry hadn't seemed too bad, though Sirius reserved the right to totally rescind that opinion later. Half the members of Sirius' family seemed perfectly nice and sympathetic on the surface. That was the great thing about sympathy. It was easy to fake. 

Bella had quite a few games she'd played on him during the holidays when he'd been little that had driven that particular lesson home. She'd stuck him with a fork, hard enough to draw blood, one Christmas and feigned sympathy with the rest of the family so that when he tearfully pointed the finger at her, no one had believed him. Of course, it had taken a few years to figure out that if he'd been Reggie, the reaction he'd gotten would have been a hell of a lot different. 

So maybe he was slow. Just not as slow as Harry seemed to think him. 

_"Someone has to be worried about you."_

The likelihood of that was fairly slim. His friends wouldn't miss him, really, until the start of school. Romie and Ted might wonder briefly as to why he hadn't written after a while, but even then, they had a little girl and careers of their own to worry about. It wasn't like they had the time or energy to sort out Sirius's problems for him. Besides, current count of heads seemed to prove that if he caused too many problems, people got him out of the picture. Which didn't seem fair since it took causing problems to get him in the picture to begin with.  

Romie and Ted were the first people—well, the only people really—who'd ever paid attention to him before he'd caused enough ruckus to raise the dead. But it would be the first place his family would look if they were hot on his tail, and it would embroil Ted and Romie in something that Romie had left the family to avoid. 

And sitting here on this bed, chest on fire and the botched ritual sacrifice still fresh in his mind, who was to say that she wouldn't kick Sirius out on his ass when confronted with the Blacks all over again? Hell, he'd be hard pressed to want to face them right now, and as much as he loved Romie and Ted, as much as he'd loved the weeks he'd spent with them in the summers and the way that they always kept the spare room set up in case he stopped by for a visit, a part of him doubted. 

And wondered. Blood was thicker than water, as the saying went. And in his family, his blood was the plague. He hated himself for thinking it, and most of the time he dismissed the thought the moment it popped in his head, but all the same there was the worry. The thought that maybe Romie was playing him much the same way that her younger sister did. Maybe she wasn't as nasty as Bella or Narcissa, and maybe she wasn't as obvious. Maybe she just couldn't help herself. After all, he wasn't the easiest kid to love. He wasn't cute like Dora, the youngest like Reggie, smart like Remus, cool like James, and well, the list went on. 

No, he decided, they wouldn't be worried about him because he didn't plan on telling them what had happened. 

Narcissa and Bella would happily dance on his grave should he turn up somewhere in a wooded lot in a shallow grave. The thought of them being worried about him was laughable. Their apparent hatred didn't bother him much. It wasn't like he could stand them either, conceited selfish little bitches. 

Reggie wouldn't notice he was gone until it directly affected his world in some fashion. His father wouldn't notice if he fell off the face of the planet, let alone care if he did. And his mum? She dogged his every step, and she ignored every word he said. She praised his smarts, and belittled every effort he made. She told him to be careful, and she laughed at him when he broke an arm. She loved him, and she hated him. It was easier to just not think about her at all than it was to try and figure her out.  

_"Is there anyone I can get in touch with that you trust? Someone that could help you out?"_

He could really use someone at the moment, because none of this made any sense at all. From the way he'd been found, to ending up here, to Harry's stupid story. Everything seemed familiar, but in a twisted kind of way that didn't sit well with him at all. He could send an owl to any one of his friends, he supposed. 

Remus would help him in a heartbeat, he was sure. But Remus already had a full set of problems all his own. Not to mention the fact that his parents were pretty nosy on top of it. Seeing as they were so big on family, they'd probably end up trying to reunite Sirius with his mother in some fashion, and Sirius was fairly certain now that his mother would just set out to finish what she'd started. 

Peter's family was like a zoo, there were so many kids floating around. They wouldn't notice one more mouth or one more kid. But at the same time, Peter wouldn't believe him or his story in a million years. As good of friends as they were, Peter seemed to think that most of what came out of Sirius's mouth was a joke in the making. Most of the time, Peter wasn't entirely wrong either, but the way Sirius figured, it was just going to take too much time getting across to Peter what had happened let alone making him believe it. He didn't want to have to repeat himself or what happened any more times then he absolutely had to. 

James, though, had parents who would at least be willing to put up with him for a little bit and believe the story. There was no lost love between the Blacks and the Potters, and Sirius was fairly certain that if given the opportunity to believe the worst about the Blacks, the Potters would snap up the opportunity. It was just coincidence that the worst to be believed in this case was actually true. James wouldn't let him down either. Seeing as how the bloke was head over heels for that muggleborn, maybe he wouldn't get too weird if Sirius did end up becoming muggle himself. 

All he had to do now was figure out how the hell to get out of the infirmary without anyone becoming any the wiser and he had to do it without relying on a wand. Stretching slightly, he tested to see which way he could move without it hurting too much. Surprisingly, he had some range of motion, and what he couldn't manage without pain, he'd just live with. 

Sliding his feet out from under the covers and onto the floor, he shakily stood up. Lovely, he was in nothing but his pants. A quick look around didn't unearth his trousers, and maybe under different circumstances that would have been more important. Besides, this infirmary was a lot warmer than any other infirmary he'd ever been in. Hogwarts', in particular. 

The mental list in his head of reasons that this was probably not the Hogwarts infirmary jumped by one, but it didn't really mesh that well with the whole professor thing, considering Hogwarts was the only magic school he knew of in Britain and no one was nattering on in foreign languages or accents. Quite frankly, thinking of the whole thing was beginning to make his head hurt, and since his chest already felt as if he'd been kicked by a Hippogriff, he decided to just not think about it. Right now, the priority was to get the hell out of this building. 

He made it to the infirmary door just fine, if a bit light headed. At the rate he was going, though, they were going to catch him before he even made it down to the hallway. And all right, running around in his pants wasn't exactly going to make this easier. Hell on earth. Rolling his eyes, he turned slightly to look back. There were the sheets on the bed, but that was all the way across the room. Fuck it, maybe there was a tapestry or something he could use. If worse came to worse, he'd play the insanity card. It had gotten him and James out of detention that one time. 

The hallway itself was dark and quiet, as well as eerily familiar. The portraits on the walls were unfamiliar, but they were hung in all the right places. It felt like someone was playing a prank on him, even though he would be the first to admit that as far as pranks went, this one was way too involved and elaborate to be worthwhile. No, it was too bizarre to not be real. 

That being the case, as an invalid, he was going to get a whole lot of nowhere before someone stumbled on him and stopped him from making his getaway. His underwear and the lack of tapestries notwithstanding. The insanity card would probably land him in St. Mungos instead of scot-free, and ideally, he didn't want to end up anywhere but at James' place alive, and in one piece. As he was now, that was beginning to look downright impossible. Of course, if he were someone else…

Or something else. If he were Padfoot, this would be a hell of a lot easier. Mostly because there were lots of advantages to being an illegal animagi, the least of which was that no one knew who he was when he was a big black dog. There might be some confusion if someone found a dog inside a school, but it wouldn't get his ass in half as much trouble as it would if he were found as himself. 

He'd still have to have a hell of a lot magic left in his soul though, if he were going to be able to pull off the transformation. Biting his lip for a moment, Sirius contemplated the idea. If he didn't have enough in him—if he'd somehow been rendered a squib—a hell of a lot could go wrong. He could end up with a tail on his human body for the rest of his life, or he could be stuck with a snout and fur, somewhere between human and dog. Half transformations were nearly impossible to reverse. It was half the reason that one had to register before attempting the animagi transformation.

Well, he'd never know if he didn't try, he decided recklessly. Really, what did he have to lose? Squeezing his eyes shut, Sirius muttered the words and then just about yelped in happiness as he felt the magic flow through him. His body shifted, and suddenly he had a dog's perspective on everything. He had magic! 

He did a quick jump in the air as his tail wagged before he came down wincing. If anything, his burn now ached more than ever. Although, what did that matter? He could transform. The ritual hadn't succeeded. He was going to transform back to human and then back to dog again just to prove to himself that he still could. Panting happily, he turned in a quick circle chasing after his tail before buckling down and concentrating. 

He put all four paws solidly on the ground and willed himself back to his original form. And…

…nothing happened. He tried once more with the same results. Frustrated now, he growled slightly before trying one last time. Like the first time, nothing happened. He was still all dog. 

Great. Just great. 

*****

"Harry, be reasonable. There are plenty of perfectly capable adults here at the school. Not to mention the fact that there are children here. Hogwarts isn't the same way it was when you were a student here," Remus brushed a tired hand through his hair and regarded the younger man with mixed chagrin and affection. He knew he wasn't going to be able to talk Harry out of taking in this kid. Harry was, if anything, stubborn to a fault. But he had to try, if just so that he could be someone to remind Harry that he wasn't required to take on responsibility. 

"I know that, and I'll probably stick around here with him for a while, too. But as nice as this school is, trust me, it's not a home. And until we figure out if he even has one of those, he's going to need one." 

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, though? We don't even know who he is. Does he have a first name?"

Harry shot him a withering glare, and Remus resisted the urge to grin back in response. He respected the adult that Harry had grown into, but there were just some occasions when the tenacious child he'd once taught all those years ago, seemed to shine through. "He's not telling us who he is precisely because he doesn't want us to figure out how to send him home." 

"That's a pretty big assumption," he chided mildly as Harry crammed his fists in his pockets. 

"He told Alice his name was Sirius," Harry deadpanned, as if that explained everything. As soon as Harry said it though, Remus wondered why he hadn't seen the resemblance sooner. 

"He does look a lot like Sirius did at that age," he said cautiously. There were a lot of things he and Harry did not discuss. It was one of the things Remus regretted sometimes late at night when he was having troubles sleeping himself. As stubborn as Harry was, on certain things, Remus outranked him completely. Sirius was one of those things. As much as talking it through and talking about him might have been cathartic for them both, Remus had flat out refused to even try. 

Not that Harry had been particularly forthcoming either, but Hermione had tried roping them into a discussion about their feelings on more than one occasion. Personally, Remus didn't see the point. People died. People left. There wasn't any point in moping on what had been or could have been. He lived in the present, and if he was living a pipe dream in pretending that he could forget how much the past hurt, then it was his pipe dream to live. 

"Oh please," Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't think that's just a little _too_ coincidental? He says his name is Sirius, appears in my godfather's house, and you say he looks like Sirius? This is total misdirection. He's desperate for acceptance somewhere, and he's figured out how to get it with me. I'm not going to turn him out just because he's brought up painful memories. He doesn't want us snooping into his past and he doesn't want us trying to throw him back with his family. If all he wants is a place to stay and a place to figure himself out, then I'm more than willing to give him that, no questions asked." 

Even if Harry couldn't see it, Remus could. This was starting to become a bit too personal and as much as he cared about Harry, the bloke was losing perspective on the situation. "We won't know for sure until we ask and until we look into his past. Maybe being back with his family is the best thing for him right now." Not that Remus thought so. Personally, he agreed with Harry's initial assessment. But he wasn't here to be Harry's personal yes man. There were thousands of adoring fans outside the school gates who would do anything asked for the Man Who Lived. 

"Back with his family?" Harry growled. "I asked him outright if there was anyone I could get in contact with for him. I asked him if I could get a hold of someone he trusted so that we could talk this out. And you know what? There was no one. He completely shut down and shut me out." 

"All I'm saying is that it's possible that maybe, just maybe, he isn't you," Remus said softly before putting up a hand to stave off Harry's angry retort. "You don't know anything about him, Harry. And for the record, yes, I agree, we probably shouldn't try forcing him back with his family without getting his consent first. But we have to know more about him, and if he says his name is Sirius, then let's just go with that until we find out otherwise. We can't jump to conclusions," he finished calmly. 

Harry bowed his head for a moment then as they paused outside of the door to Remus's rooms. "I hate it when you do that, you know." 

"Hm?" 

"That you can be Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected like that. It pisses me off, even when I can see the sense in it." Harry heaved a sigh, banging his head lightly against the wall behind him. "Do you really think I'm making this too personal?" 

"I wouldn't let you do that," Remus crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the younger man. "I'd sedate you and drag you to St. Mungos before I let it go on that long again." Because the last time Remus had watched Harry make something personal, the bloke had tried to single handedly track down the Lestranges, hell bent on revenge. The results hadn't been at all as conclusive as Harry had hoped, and Harry hadn't taken the news well at all. It was the last time Remus ever wanted to be visiting St. Mungos under those circumstances, and he'd damn well make sure it never came down to that again in his lifetime. 

"Good," there was a wry smile on Harry's face. "It's just that," Harry paused uncomfortably, "he reminds me a bit of me, you know?" 

"They all do," Remus pointed out gently. Harry had a soft spot for kids in general, and Remus had seen and helped him bend over backwards for some of the war orphans and the occasional runaway that had made it to the school grounds.

"You know, if I'd been a muggle, I'd be working in child services." 

Since Remus had no idea what that was, he let it slide. "Well, just remember, if you get in too deep, for the love of god, ask for help. I'm more than willing to lend a hand. You know that." Not that it would do any good. No matter how many times Remus offered, Harry only accepted when the mood struck him. Which, as far as Remus could tell, was never. 

"Sure, of course," Harry agreed easily, confirming Remus's suspicions. He rolled his eyes, just so that Harry would know he knew that. Odd little games he played sometimes with James's son. Heaven only knew James had never been like this. 

Remus turned to say his password to Sir Cadogan who had been kind enough to offer to guard his rooms, when he spotted something down the hallway. "Harry?" He gestured down the hallway, looking to the younger man for confirmation that he wasn't seeing things.

"Is that a dog?" Harry whispered as the creature in question came loping past the only lit torch on the floor. For a moment, Remus was sure it was going to run right in to them. It finally saw them, though, and skidded to a halt, as if it were startled to find itself in the company of other living creatures. 

"_Padfoot_?" Harry's incredulity was echoed silently by Remus as he got a good look at the huge black mutt. There was simply no way. There had to be thousands of black dogs all over the isles. 

But how many of them were that _huge_? With pale blue eyes? And inside Hogwarts' walls? 

The dog slid in spot for a second before it took off at a full gallop back down the way it had come. Maybe Harry was right after all. Maybe it was too much of a coincidence for all of this to not have been meticulously planned, Remus decided as both he and Harry gave chase. 

*****


	4. Poke the caged bear

A/N: That sound you're not hearing? That is the sound of the ocean liners that are not sailing through the plot holes in this fic. ^____^ And dude, if you buy that, I have some lovely oceanfront property in Montana that I could sell you…

That being said, I'm still new at this whole plot business. Usually, my fics are a hell of a lot more character driven. I don't particularly like that this chapter is so…explanatory, but oh well. You win some, you lose some. I'm doing a lot of experimenting with this poor fic. Sometimes it'll work, and other times I'm sure it will rival my cat's litterbox. 

*****

Chapter Four

*****

"You stunned him," Harry murmured, feeling a bit stunned himself as both he and Remus jogged over to where the big dog had dropped like a stone. 

"Did you have a better idea?" 

"Um, no, this works," he returned, a little embarrassed at not having thought of it himself. Letting out a whoosh of breath, Harry got down on his knees and pulled up the stunned dog's eyelid gently to reveal the dilated blue eyes. The mutt's tongue was hanging out too, and he panted softly with each breath he took. That in itself was reassuring. From the way the dog had moved, Harry could tell that he had been harboring some pain. 

"Well, whoever he is, he's done his homework." Remus ruffled the fur around the dog's head before pulling out a wand. 

"Definitely got our attention," Harry added in agreement. "He can't be more than sixteen. We're going to have to put him in the accelerated classes and then probably give him some extra tutoring on top of that to keep his ass out of trouble." 

"That horse of yours definitely gets a good work out when it comes to pushing the cart." Harry scowled as Remus managed a small smirk in his direction. So what if he was a little bit too far ahead in his thinking? The way Lupin talked, a bloke would have thought he did this all the time. "Let's try to figure out who he is first and why he feels the need to impersonate Sirius." 

"All right," he grumbled, pulling his own wand out of his back pocket. "On the count of three?" He raised an eyebrow as he looked over at Remus. Remus shrugged carelessly. "One-Two-Three!" There was a flash of blue-white light that erupted from both wands and the dog on the floor quickly changed shape back into the pale, dark-haired boy Harry had left in the infirmary an hour ago. 

"He does look an awful lot like Sirius." Remus looked mildly concerned, which had Harry worried. Remus did not get concerned easily. In fact, Remus was like the rock of Gibraltar. Unshakeable and unmovable. If it was enough to cause Remus worry… "Are you sure the injury is legitimate?" 

"Fairly," Harry answered as he pulled back some of the bloodied bandages as gently as possible. "Pomfrey was convinced, at least, and you know how hard it is to fool that woman." 

"Potter, what have you done now?" Harry glanced up to see Malfoy standing in front of them, customary scowl in place and arms folded over his chest. 

"Here's your chance, Malfoy, take a look at the burn," he returned instead of rising to the bait. The skin didn't look too infected, but like he'd told Remus earlier, the burn itself reeked of dark magic. Old magic. Maybe that in itself would explain how their mystery guest came equipped with so many of Sirius's features and traits. Although, if that did indeed turn out to be the case, Harry knew he was going to have his hands full trying to coax the teenager in question into believing that there were less drastic ways to solve one's problems then resorting to ancient rituals and bodily harm. 

And all right, so most teenagers were a pain in the ass no matter who they were. This kid could be anywhere on the spectrum from Neville's shy bumblings to Malfoy's spoiled brat, bad attitude. But hey, if someone as selfish and self centered as Malfoy could be redeemed, then Harry thought that pretty much anyone could change if given the chance. And so Malfoy wasn't exactly everyone's best friend now that he was an adult, but at least he wasn't a mass murderer or a dead Death Eater. 

Bottom line was, if Dumbledore could redeem Snape and Snape could redeem Malfoy, then as far as Harry was concerned, there was hope for this kid and any other kid out there. 

"He's not going to thank either of you for this," Remus interjected mildly as Malfoy bent down and gently peeled away the rest of the bandages that Harry hadn't removed. 

"He's a kid. I don't particularly give a damn what he wants, and I don't want his thanks," Malfoy growled. 

The burn itself was pretty impressive, Harry had to admit as he saw it for the first time in the absence of blood and the kid's feeble attempts to cover it. Complicated runes like that hadn't been used in centuries because it was so easy to miss a curly-cue there or a series of dots here and botch the entire ritual. Harry appreciated it from a purely academic point of view. It took a powerful wizard to pull off that kind of magic. 

"Is this some kind of demented pureblood thing?" So, maybe it wasn't the best way to phrase a question, Harry shrugged as Remus shot him an irritated glance. He couldn't help it if occasionally he still had to push some of Malfoy's easier to reach buttons. Malfoy was sensitive as hell about his own burn scar, and this certainly wasn't going to be any picnic if Harry showed even the slightest bit of sympathy. After all, the bloke didn't exactly make his life easier, either. Mutual respect demanded that one not pity the other, which also meant that when offered an opportunity to demonstrate that bad history and bad memories did not illicit sympathy, they took it. For the most part, they knew where the boundaries were. Although, as Malfoy shot him the 'die, Potter, die' look, Harry wondered if maybe he hadn't gone a bit too far. 

"Yes, and no." 

"Thank you for your stunning clarity." 

"Potter, shut the fuck up." 

"Now children, enough squabbling. Can we concentrate on the matter at hand, maybe?" Remus calmly interjected, moving in between them. "Do you recognize the mark, Draco?" 

"Yes," Malfoy muttered sullenly, and Harry resisted the urge to gloat. Now they were getting somewhere. The sooner they could put this to rest, the sooner Harry could put the whole experience behind him. Contrary to popular belief, Harry was not in the habit of adopting stray children like puppies. He couldn't help it if they found him. The wizarding world both praised and scorned him in turn for his work with children, from the Death Eater orphans to the hoodlums of the lost generation that had taken to indiscriminately terrorizing parts of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. 

It always amazed Harry how people thought that if they ignored the problem, it would just magically vanish. There wasn't a wizard on the planet that was capable of making the number of children rendered parentless by the killing sprees and then the war itself simply disappear. And maybe it was just as Harry had told Remus. Maybe it was that he saw a part of himself in each and every one of those kids. Or maybe it was just that he had the foresight to understand that the situation at hand was the breeding ground for wizards of Voldemort's caliber. 

Still, there were some aspects of his own parentless childhood that he wasn't ready to face yet. Sirius was one of them. 

"Well, what is it, you ponce?" He finally demanded after it became apparent that Malfoy's lapse into silence wasn't going to be interrupted by an explanation. 

"Harry," Remus murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder to caution him. Blowing out a heavy sigh, Harry turned to get comfortable on the floor. Obviously, this was going to take a while. "You don't have to tell us everything, Draco. We just need an idea of what kind of ritual it was so that we can have some idea of what we're dealing with." 

Malfoy, for his part, looked torn over having to confess. "It's an old pureblood tradition, passed down from generation to generation," he finally said with a heavy sigh. 

"So I was right," Harry butted in, to which Malfoy responded with a creative, unrepeatable suggestion as to what Harry could do with certain parts of his anatomy. 

"Harry, you're not helping," Remus added with a withering glare. Sure, on some level, Harry understood that he shouldn't be nettling Malfoy when the bloke was in the midst of admitting a painful personal experience. But then again, Malfoy had contributed some thrilling commentary to Harry's own personal confessions on certain occasions as well. This was, in some respects, payback for the time Malfoy had sneered at every description Harry had ever given to their mutual charges of what it was like living in a cupboard and being rendered invisible to things like affection and love. 

"Shove off, Lupin, he's got a point." Proving yet again, Harry thought, that the only side Malfoy ever seemed to be on was his own. "It is a demented ritual. If you will recall your history—although we all know how hard that is considering what a deadly bore Binns is—most pureblood families try to produce an heir and a spare." 

"Muggles were like that, too," Harry added flippantly, "in the stone ages." 

"The oldest is the spare in these families, although it's not always common knowledge," Malfoy continued, shooting Harry a disgusted glance. "The younger is the heir. Most of the tradition died out a century ago when the number of pureblood wizards started to dwindle so drastically. But some of the more," Malfoy's face contorted slightly, "old fashioned pureblood families kept the ritual." 

"What _is_ the ritual?" Could Malfoy possibly fish around the topic any more than he already was? Harry rested his chin on his propped up arm and raised an eyebrow at Malfoy's glare. 

"It's a separation sacrifice. They take the oldest son, who generally has a greater innate magical ability as well as an inflated ego due to their supposed position as heir, and they separate the magic from his soul. Depending on the person, the boy may or may not survive the separation. If they do live, which is rare, they become muggles for the rest of their shortened lifespan. Once the family manages the separation, they channel the bodiless magic into various pre-designated vessels of the family's choosing. Generally, most of it goes to the heir," Malfoy said coldly. 

"But you were an only chil-" 

"She was three months pregnant," Malfoy cut Remus off before he could finish the sentence and Harry took a moment to gape. "Not to mention that Father had suffered through Azkaban and she wanted a bit of a pepper up." Malfoy sneered, and Harry felt his stomach roll slightly. Actually, this explained a couple of the kids he'd come in contact with over the years. 

"So, if all the pureblood families knew how to do this, why didn't Voldemort just get all of them to sacrifice their kids to him?" He couldn't help it, the question begged to be asked, Harry decided. 

"Because, you dunce, the vessels have to be blood relations," Malfoy shot back, glaring at both him and Remus coldly again. "As it was, my mother needed the magic from the rituals just to get pregnant. It only works within family bonds." 

"Do you recognize him?" Remus asked then, gesturing to the teen that was still out cold on the floor. 

"No," Malfoy replied in short order. "We might as well just wake him up and ask him. I'm curious myself as to how he managed to escape if he was tied down." 

"How did you-" Harry bit off the question abruptly at Malfoy's expression. Okay, so maybe he'd poked the caged bear enough for one day. "Never mind." 

Malfoy turned his attention back to the boy, pulled out his wand and looked to Remus and Harry. Both nodded their agreement. "Enervate!" 

******


	5. Semicharmed kind of life

Warning: Yeah, so there aren't that many changes. However, since I went back and rewrote parts of these last five chapters, there are some changes. Most notably, I got rid of Quentin in chapter two, and Sirius decided to run away, and being the brilliant planner that he is, did it in his underwear before turning into Padfoot. And yes, I'm nuts. I'm quite comfortable in my insanity, thanks for asking. 

A/N: Um, yeah…Did I ever mention that I don't own HP? 

Chapter Five

"Enervate!"

Sirius came up kicking. Even under the best of circumstances, he wouldn't have reacted well to waking up in pain and under the inspection of three adults. These were not the best of circumstances and, since the first thing his eyes flew open to see was an angry looking Malfoy, Sirius felt the first spurts of panic wind up through his chest. 

Since he caught sight of Harry out of the corner of his eye, Sirius managed to keep himself from hyperventilating on the spot. Whatever else the bloke might be, Sirius was banking on him being one of those classic do-gooders. Bit like the headmaster, only like a gazillion years younger. After all, it wasn't like Harry had been required to release him from the table, or take him to an infirmary, or look after him in any way, shape or form.

The way Sirius had it figured, he was doing pretty good. He hadn't done anyone, himself included, any irreparable damage despite the fact that he was laid out barebacked on the floor in his underwear, bandages around him and burn exposed while three rather intimidating looking men hovered over him like Grim Reapers with wands. They'd at least moved out of the way the moment he snapped awake, giving him some room. All things considered, the situation could be a lot worse, he tried to convince himself as he took a few deep gulps of air. 

"So kid," Sirius focused his attention back on the scowling Malfoy, "how did you get the burn?" The bloke asked, gesturing to Sirius's exposed and vulnerable chest as he invaded Sirius's personal space. 

Silly question. How did he get the burn? Isn't this what all families did on their vacations? Sirius was all ready to write his "how I spent the summer" essay. And then he was going to find Snape and skip through a field of daisies with the bloke. 

He smacked away Malfoy's outstretched arm. Sirius knew that Malfoy knew exactly how he'd gotten it. He was probably here to finish the job. Couldn't have him haunting the family tree the way Uncle Alphard did. 

Reggie had almost failed his third year Transfiguration class. Bella was waiting for a wedding present. And dear, lovely Narcissa was looking to have her first baby. 

Families helped each other out. There were sacrifices to be made for the prosperity of the clan. There were traditions to be upheld for the integrity of the name. No one member was more important than the whole. And well, really, some were more expendable than others. 

Sirius tried struggling to a sitting position, wincing as muscles he didn't even know he had, ached. "Well, are you going to answer the question?" Malfoy demanded, pulling Sirius's attention back into the present as the bloke put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down to the cold floor. Because, obviously, it didn't matter what he thought. Or whether or not he actually _wanted_ to answer the question. 

As if, just because he was a half grown kid, his own opinions—hell, his own fucking life—didn't mean a goddamned thing. And maybe that was true. Maybe he was just a waste of space and that the biggest contribution he'd ever be able to make to anyone would be to sacrifice everything that made him who he was. 

But was it really too much to ask to be given a choice in the matter? He strained once more, struggling to get up from under Malfoy's grip. Malfoy, however, didn't seem to be in any mood to back down, and instead of releasing Sirius's shoulder, the bloke's fingers dug in deeper slightly, cutting in slightly to the edge of one of the ridiculous curly-cues that was now etched into Sirius's chest. 

And that, Sirius decided blindly as he swung his fist, was too much, even for him. If the Malfoy family wanted a blasted baby, they could do it the way nature had originally intended. Or, they could sacrifice his dear little brother. But they weren't getting him. That was _his_ choice, and he didn't particularly care if they liked it much or not. He'd found a way to escape the ritual once, and he'd come up with another if he damn well had to. 

There was a grim satisfaction to the crunching sound his fist made as it impacted with Malfoy's nose and the squeal of pain the pointy bastard gave. However, as he worked himself to a sitting position, he could see the error of his split second decision. Three to one were not good odds. Even less when the three in question had wands and he was unarmed. 

He could feel his heart sink even as it beat hard against his chest. Fuck. Getting detentions during the middle of the school year was one thing. While Sirius probably wouldn't have trusted anyone other than the marauders any farther than he could toss them, fact of the matter was that they were there. 

And as for right now? For all he knew, there wasn't anyone in this wing, let alone on the floor.

There were a lot of times in his life when he'd felt helpless. Numerous times in his own home, in his own bedroom, and even a couple of times in his own dorm room at Hogwarts. But he'd at least known what to expect from those attacks and those people. 

Dear not-so-old Uncle Harry was holding back a laugh at the expression on Malfoy's disgruntled face, but Sirius didn't feel in the least bit comforted by that. As it was, he could feel the panic building again. He wasn't going back home. He wasn't letting them finish what she'd started. 

"Leave it to Malfoy," Harry added cheerfully to the situation, throwing a wink in Sirius's direction. As far as Sirius was concerned, the bloke could go stuff himself. No adult ever did anything without an ulterior motive. Even Dumbledore played puppeteer with the children in his care. Chances were, even this do-gooder wanted something out of him. With an offer to live with him, what exactly was in it for Scarface? Sirius wasn't going to be anyone's house elf. Or catamite. Maybe that was exactly the pay off. Siphon off the magic for his mother in the Black family name, and get a slave for life. 

"Harry," the oldest of the three admonished lightly. There was something familiar about him, too, Sirius decided, as he narrowed his eyes, really taking in the gent for the first time. Sirius had been more concerned with this Harry and Malfoy because they were louder, more forthright. This older bloke hid in the shadows. Waited things out. Watched. 

He reminded Sirius of his father. Waiting in the wings, just watching and lulling Sirius into a false sense of security before going in for the strike. As his mother loved to brag at dinner parties, his father was a coiled serpent waiting cautiously and patiently for the perfect moment to move in for the kill. 

Of course, Remus was the same. But Remus was a kid, not to mention one of his best mates. Remus had reasons for being like he was. None of them had anything to do with waiting for someone else to slip up and everything to do with not slipping up himself. Since Sirius sincerely doubted that any of these three blokes were worried about slipping up in front of a half grown kid like him, the old bloke definitely fit in with his mind's description of his father. 

"Kid, what's your name?" Harry asked, rather casually as he twirled his wand in his hand. Sirius swallowed down the shortness in breath at the casual taunting of power and the reminder that they held all of it while he had none whatsoever. 

"Sirius," he managed, unable to keep the anger out of his own voice. "But you already know that." 

"Look, no one's going to do anything to you here," the green-eyed bloke spoke calmly, but Sirius didn't feel calmed. So they wouldn't harm him here at this school. There were dozens of other places to finish a ritual or dump a body. What was he, some little snot-nosed first year that didn't know a blasted thing? He'd been playing these fucked up word games for years. 

"He's not going to be your best mate just because you say so." Sirius swung his gaze abruptly over to where Malfoy was holding his nose delicately in his hand while scowling at them all. Sirius decided then and there that he wasn't getting to know any of these blokes. 

"I'm not trying to be his best mate," Harry looked mildly offended by the comment and Sirius had a second's sense of humor at the accusation itself. "I'm trying to get him to tell the truth so I know what we're up against." Unfortunately the second was over all too shortly. He wasn't a person to them. Hell, sometimes Sirius was fairly convinced he wasn't a person to anyone other than the marauders. And sometimes, late at night behind the curtains of his bed, he wondered if maybe his friends weren't the ones who were wrong. Maybe he was just currency to be cashed in by the highest bidder. 

"Whatever. You're always trying to make friends with all the sodding brats. Bloody waste of time," Malfoy scoffed. 

"You can be replaced, you know." Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, as the bloke tightened his grip on his wand. Sirius wasn't entirely sure why, but it was that expression—that stance—that laid to rest any overt plans of rebellion he might have been harboring against the bloke. Subversion it was.

"Right, like you'd sack me," Malfoy retorted in a nasal voice. "Who would teach your Potions, then? There aren't enough Galleons in the world to tempt Severus back to the job."

"You aren't the only person on the planet besides Snape with an aptitude for Potions, you git."

Severus Snape? Teach potions? What in the name of hell were they talking about? Feeling increasingly uneasy, Sirius tired as discreetly as possible to back away from the group as a whole. Unfortunately, the old chap pinned him with a gaze, and Sirius froze. 

"Now children, do you think maybe we could stay on topic?" He was good, Sirius would have to give him credit for that. Even despite the fact that the bloke had turned to address Malfoy and Harry, Sirius could still feel the weight of his attention. If he even tried to make a run for it, Sirius was sure that this bloke wouldn't let him get too terribly far. 

"He started it, Remus." 

"Remus?" The words though just popped out of his mouth. How common a name could Remus possibly be? Sirius had to admit, as he shifted his attention back to the old bloke, that there was a bit of a resemblance. 

"Remus Lupin," the bloke offered along with a hand to shake. Sirius ignored it in favor of trying to keep from physically shaking off the raised hairs on the back of his neck. "Who are you?" 

Who was he? He was someone who was very sorry he'd ever woken up, that was who he was. Why the fuck did they keep asking this bloody question? Who the fuck were _they_? "You are _not_ Remus Lupin," he bit back angrily. He could hear the dull roar in his ears, but he held his breath anyway. He refused to let them see just how much this was getting to him. 

"It's the name my mother gave me," the crafty bastard offered with a seemingly apologetic smile. Sirius wasn't fooled for a second. "What's your name?" 

"Sirius Black," he retorted back, blinking hard as he tried to keep the spots from dancing in front of his eyes. 

"The hell it is," Harry bit out, looking as angry as Sirius felt. 

"It's the name my mother gave me," Sirius offered back, mockingly. 

"Listen, you sodding brat, come clean with us or I'll personally get the vertasium out of my stores and pour it down your bleeding throat. You can either be honest now of your own free will, or we'll make you be honest," Malfoy interrupted whatever response Harry or the supposed Remus might have offered. 

Those were choices? Tell them the truth and not have them believe him or get that vile potion poured down his throat so that he could tell the truth and have them still not believe him? Fuck them. Why was it his word that was always questioned? For that matter, what business of theirs was any of it? 

But then again, when had it ever mattered what he wanted? 

He could hear his own stunted breaths now as he gave in to the hysterical laughter that had been threatening to come out of his chest for a while now. There wasn't a blessed thing he could do to stop them anyway. They had wands, he didn't. They were adults, he was just a snot-nosed teenager. They'd march him right home, regardless of how he felt. Or barring that, they'd pick up where she'd left off.

He wasn't a person, he was just a commodity. Heavens knew why they wanted him in the first place. It seemed that everyone was always telling him he was damaged goods, anyways. 

"Shit, he's having a panic attack. Remus, cast a calming charm, would you?" Sirius felt hands on his shoulders and then a hand rubbing his back in slow circles. His skin crawled for a moment at Harry's intrusion into his personal space. 

"It's not working." 

Sirius laughed harder at that, even as his eyes teared and he sucked in breaths desperately. Calming charms never worked on him. He was immune, and he probably would have rubbed it in their fucking noses if he'd been able. 

But like most panic attacks, he had to just wait this one out and hope for the best. Surprisingly, the adults surrounding him seemed content to do the same. He'd expected at least a couple of disparaging remarks from them, Malfoy at the very least, but they let him panic in silence. 

By the time his breathing had returned to normal and the bird rattling around in his chest had flown, he was exhausted. And in a world of pain. The burn itched even as it stung like a bitch. His muscles ached, and turning into Padfoot had drained him. 

"I'll take him up to the tower and we can all sit down and talk this out in the light of day tomorrow." Sirius glanced up at Harry, trying to decide if he gave a damn any more. "There's no one up there at the moment. Mach's bunking with Trevor in the dungeons. I'll keep a watch over, er," Harry shot him an uncertain glance, "Sirius." 

"Joy," Malfoy said flatly. 

"You're going to have your hands full," Remus added with a resigned shake of his head. "Call us if you need help." 

"Sure," Harry returned much too quickly for Sirius to ever think that the bloke would ever cash in on that offer. "Up we go," he added, hauling Sirius to his feet. 

Up he went. 


End file.
